Brole
by Arathorn73
Summary: What happens when two men scorned by Sarah Walker get together? They find comfort in each other, of course. Bryce/Cole crackfic. Not graphic. Illustrative of the danger of reading TWoP forum threads over your lunch hour and the power of medicines.


_OK, this is weird, wrong, twisted, and just .... Be warned. The forum was buzzing about Brole and I couldn't write anything else until I got this out of my head and I wanted to write other things. It's pretty scary and bad and unedited, but I thought some might find this crackfic entertaining. Please don't read if you don't like m/m and/or deep weirdness. (I wouldn't read this, but, somehow, I wrote it.)_

Cole Barker was still in shock. He knew he wasn't James Bond, quite, but he had never before failed in his quest to get the girl he was after. He'd been captain of the football team in school, dashing and muscular throughout his life. Most women were play toys to him. Oh, he'd been in a couple of serious relationships. One had ended when he'd found his current lover's sister a bit more attractive. Another had ended in untimely death – an occupational hazard. He'd never wanted a serious relationship this much before, though.

He dreamt of Sarah nearly every night – her sure hands stitching his wounds, her lips crushed against his. In many dreams, he would have a flesh wound near very very high on his thigh. She would dress the wound and comment on how impressive the view was from there. One thing would lead to another.

"Damn Sarah Walker." Cole could've sworn he'd heard those words across the pub. It was bad enough that she haunted his nights; did she have to haunt his days, too?

During his convalescence*, he had taken to frequenting this particular establishment. The beer was good and warm. The conversations were generally shallow. And if he indulged his inner rage in the occasional fisticuffs, it went unnoticed in the general atmosphere.

He let his eyes follow the wooden grain of the bar to where he thought the voice had come from. A roguishly handsome man with dark hair and blue eyes sat there. Cole raised his glass to the man in a mute salute. No matter what he'd said, his eyes showed the same horror Cole felt inside himself. He then allowed himself to sink back into his studied nonchalance.

A moment later, however, and the man he'd just toasted was beside him. "Don't mock my pain," he said.

"Your pain?" Cole queried. "It can't compare to mine."

The other man snorted. "I had the woman of every man's dreams and I lost her. Lost her." He took a deep pull on his own beer.

"Tell me about her," Cole instructed. Maybe another woman was just the thing to take his mind off Sarah.

"She is absolutely beautiful. She has the kind of legs that make boob-men love legs and the chest to make a confirmed ass-man wish for a frontal view. Eyes like the purest of lakes with the sun hitting just right. And we were amazing together. I mean, fiery and hot and perfect. I loved waking in the morning with her blond hair tousled all around my face."

"Ah, l'amour." But the description hit too close to home. All Cole could see was Sarah.

"Yes, it was love, I suppose. Though I don't think she ever loved me like I loved her. And I probably never really told her how much I loved her. It was … complicated."

The pause in the other man's description took Cole aback. He'd heard that mannerism before, but only from CIA agents. He appraised the man before him again, noting the alert posture, the slowness of alcohol consumption, and the bright eyes.

"Are you CIA?"

He was not disappointed by the reaction. If you ask a non-spook that question, they will laugh or claim to be CIA in an instant. A spook turns inward and looks for flaws in his disguise and evaluates the opponent before answering. Cole was definitely dealing with another operative.

"What gave me away?" the man asked.

"Your particular style of speech, old chap. But don't worry, I'm MI-6. Name's Cole Barker."

"Bryce Larkin." They shook hands and, by unspoken agreement, retired to a private table for two which had just opened.

Cole signaled the barkeep for something stronger. "Seeing as how we're together, we can get each other's backs, what? No need to be so careful with two of us."

A bottle of vodka appeared between them and they both filled a shot glass.

Bryce spoke first now. "Your eyes – they show that you know my pain. Tell me about her."

"Well, much the same as you. You know how difficult it is to find someone in our jobs. She was an agent, an American. She had the most amazing high kick and the gentlest hands. Saved my bacon once, I don't mind telling you."

"High kick?"

"Yeah. She was about this tall," Cole held up his hand, "but she could kick a giant in the nose. And probably another five times on his way down. But I lost her to a nerd." Cole threw back his head and swallowed his drink.

Bryce had started that same action but choked on the word 'nerd'. He spluttered a moment before filling his glass and draining the shot. "You've got my back, right?" he asked.

"And you've got mine." The exchanged nod between agents was more sealing than any handshake.

"Does the name 'Chuck Bartowski' mean anything to you?" Bryce asked.

This time, it was the Englishman who coughed on his drink and needed a quick refill. "So you did say Sarah Walker earlier?"

The next two hours were filled with tales of Sarah, Chuck, and shared adventures. Bryce had more history to share but Cole had seen them more recently. Both avoided any mention of the Intersect or the professional details of missions and focused on stories of Chuck's ineptitude or Sarah's beauty, grace, and charm. Those hours were also filled with more than two full bottles of vodka.

Cole was speaking again, "I knew she wanted to come with me. Well, part of her did. And I wanted her to come, too. So I just pulled her against me and kissed her."

"No way. She let you kiss her?"

"Uh-huh."

"How?" Cole raised his eyebrows. But Bryce continued, "C'mon, I've still got your back." So Cole stood up and pulled the CIA man to him, mashing their lips together. He put his hand in Bryce's hair like he had with Sarah. They were about the same size, so it wasn't too hard to imagine.

They pulled apart, a bit breathlessly. And, after that, well, as they say, they had each other's back.

* * *

* - I used coalesce where I meant convalesce in a previous story, so I had to get it right this time! :D

_I can't believe I published this. And I can't believe you read it. I blame the TWoP forums for putting this into my head and blocking other work. That and a huge crack supply (and/or left-over effects from my sedation cocktail yesterday)._


End file.
